The Man I Am
by Tahllydarling
Summary: Daryl Dixon wasn't born a fighter. He became the man he was because the world he lived in forced him to be that way... A series of scenes in which Daryl thinks on the life he has lived, the moments that make him and the man he wants to be. Treat each chapter like a stand alone scene, some based on series, others of my own making. Daryl/ Carol affection heavily implied.
1. Past

Daryl Dixon wasn't born a fighter. The aloofness in him wasn't hereditary, nor was the violence he could show when that which he loved was threatened. Survival wasn't something that his daddy taught him, though growing up with the bastard had certainly taught him a thing or two about anger, and it wasn't something he'd learned upon his mothers untimely passing when he was a kid. No, he had grown into a fighter, a survivor, over the course of time. He became the man he was because the world he lived in forced him to be that way.

Growing up under the iron fist of an abusive drunk had taught him never to let anyone get too close, to maintain a safe distance between himself and anyone who wasn't blood. Grief over his mama had taught him that it was better to feel nothing than to open himself up to the pain of losing anyone. He'd had friends, sure he had, but the neighbourhood kids didn't play with him when his brother was home and the way they looked at him changed after his mama died. He learned to live on the outskirts, to be quiet, to endure, and he survived.

The only person who had never let Daryl down, never left him, never made him feel like he wasn't a redneck loser, was his older brother and that was why he had always had Merle's back. Even Merle was gone now though, really gone this time as in no chance of him turning up again somewhere down the road. Sometimes, if he was honest he still expected his brother to come storming through the door of the cell block, stirring up hell and ruffling everyone's feathers. Wishful thinking. The only place he'll ever see Merle's face or hear his voice again is in his own head.

If not for the family he had found in the people around him, Daryl would be completely alone. If not for one person in particular, he would have retreated so far inside himself that he wasn't sure whether even he, with all his skill as a tracker, would have been able to find his way back.


	2. Survivors

He wasn't sure when it had happened but he had recognised something in Carol quite early in their association; like recognises like, that's what his mama always told him, and he saw something in her that echoed within his chest. She was a survivor too, he understood that on some instinctive level, respected that. Watching her quiet dignity while her husband routinely abused her, seeing the way she picked herself back up after Ed knocked her down time after time with his insults, or worse sometimes his fists, made him realise that she was a lot stronger than most people realised, maybe even stronger than she realised herself.

He couldn't remember when he had started looking out for her and her daughter, although he guessed it was round about the time that her husband died. He had recently lost Merle and had decided to stay with the group for a little while. It just seemed natural to watch over her and Sophia while she found her feet, and by the time she did find her feet it was second nature to look for them in the crowd. He would check in without speaking, just making sure that they were accounted for, that they were fed. It took a long time for him to recognise the feelings that they roused in him, unfamiliar feelings that he was better off without, he cared, much as he didn't want to he couldn't escape that fact.

The day that the walker herd came by on the highway and Sophia was lost haunted him. He still woke with the sound of Carol's sobbing in his ears, still dreamed of the days and nights he spent combing the forest searching for any sign of the girl. He hadn't fully understood it at the time, he'd just done what his instincts demanded he do.

When they'd half carried him back to Hershel's farm, one of his own arrows still sticking out of his side and grazed at the temple by Andrea's bullet, his only thought had been to wonder how long it would be before he could get back out there and pick up the trail. She had brought him dinner that night, thanked him for doing more for her daughter than Ed, her father, ever had. He'd known at that moment, when she planted a gentle kiss on his bandaged head, that the risk had been worth it. He had known that he would do it all again, over and over, until he brought Sophia home.

Later, after they had discovered what happened to her, he had removed himself from the others, unable to look at Carol's devastated face or the Cherokee rose that he had brought to the RV for her while Sophia was missing. He had needed to be alone with the reality that he had failed her, failed all of them, that he was weak and selfish and could have done more. He had needed to purge the feelings that were too raw for him to process before they consumed him.

Grief-stricken and angry, he had thrown harsh words at Carol when she tried to bring him back to the group. He threw words at her that he knew would hurt, trying to drive her away when really he wanted her to stay, to tell him that he hadn't failed her or her little girl. That was when it dawned on him. When he exploded and he told Carol that Sophia wasn't even his daughter and she should have looked out for her better, he had finally known. Something deep inside him had begun to think of her as his own, had wanted that girl to be his. He had started to think of them as his family, Sophia and her mother, his heart had claimed them both without him even being aware of it.


	3. Family

Carol was the one person who had believed he was better than he was. His life with the group hadn't had the best of starts but it was filled with instances of her compassion and consideration that he had never deserved and advice that he never thanked her for. In a world that had quite literally gone to hell, where she had lost as much as he had, more even, she still cared, she still trusted. She was the reason he had a place in this group, she was the one who had made him a part of this family and kept him here.

He didn't love Carol in a romantic way, not initially at least, that wasn't what it was about at first. It was a deeper connection than that, transcending flesh and bone and blood and becoming something else, she was family. He trained her to look after herself and she forced him to look at himself in ways that he'd never had reason to. He watched her grow a little more with every day out of Ed's shadow, watched her rebuild herself after the loss of the daughter she had adored. When they talked, and they did often, he felt more valued than he had ever been in his whole life.

He guarded her heart and her body with a determination that would have amazed those who had known him in his past life. He looked out for her, taught her how to shoot, how to hunt, how to survive and through it all he made sure that she was okay. She broke down all the walls that he had built around himself, forced him to see himself the way that she saw him. They kept each other close and kept each other safe.

She was his friend, his confidante and his only solace and he always protected what was his.


	4. Winter

Seven months on the road did nothing to dim his urge to keep Carol safe. If anything, the urge to protect her only grew stronger during those long days and nights. Through the depths of winter, he kept her near to him under the guise of overseeing her training, standing watch at her side, slipping her a little extra at meal times when he could and sleeping close enough that he could keep watch over her but not so close that she felt crowded when they all bedded down for the night.

Somewhere along the way, he realised that the way he thought of her had changed. His entire adult life he had been a loner by preference, only able to tolerate the company of his brother, yet somehow this quiet little woman had got under his skin and to his surprise he found that he liked her there. He grew to like the feel of her gaze on his face when she looked for him returning from the hunt, the warmth of her manner when she joked around with him during their night patrols. Gradually he came to accept the casual touches that were so much a part of her nature without flinching and to accept that he could flirt with her a little without fear of humiliation.

She never admitted that she was cold, not even when the first snow fell and the temperature dropped during the night. Even wearing layers of clothing, he would catch her shivering when she thought he wasn't looking; he would notice that long after they went inside she couldn't get warm. On the coldest nights he took to sleeping huddled beside her, initially keeping layers of blankets between them so that there was no danger of their skin coming into contact, gradually growing comfortable enough in her presence that he no longer felt panicked by the proximity. He would do a lot of things for Carol that he wouldn't even consider doing for the others, his way of paying back all the kindnesses she'd done for him.

It took a long time before he was able to put his finger on why he felt differently about her to Lori, Maggie or Beth. She was different to the others in many ways, but what made all the difference to him was that when she looked at him she saw more than a socially awkward redneck. The others might have valued his skills, but she made him feel like he was worth a damn. Sometimes when she looked at him in the soft way of hers, Daryl felt like every thought he'd ever had, good and bad, right and wrong, was laid bare for her to see but if it was, she never turned away.

Carol's acceptance of him, her concern for him and the flashes of dry humour that she seemed to inspire in him with surprising frequency, made the rest of the group look at him differently. She had accepted him and because she had, so did they. By the end of the winter, he could no longer remember why he had ever felt that he didn't belong with the group.


	5. Shelter

Under normal circumstances the thought of taking shelter in a prison would have been unthinkable to him, but then circumstances could hardly be described as normal. Exhausted and half-starved from months on the road, the priority was simple – find a secure and sheltered location where they could all regroup. The women had grown a lot leaner during the winter months than he was comfortable with and Lori needed a secure place to give birth. That was how he found himself breaking into a prison, probably making him the only member of the Dixon clan to ever enter a cell block willingly.

They cleared a cell block, took out all the walkers inside and locked it down, bedding down for the first time in months on beds that weren't just a pallet of blankets on the ground. He couldn't bring himself to sleep in the cells, too many memories of Merle's jail stories for him to feel comfortable with that idea, so he had taken the observation perch as his own, dragging out a mattress and pillows to make it a little more comfortable. Strangely the block reminded him of home, or what had been home, that tiny run down shack that he had shared with his brother before the world went to hell.

It didn't take long for him to realise that he couldn't sleep through the night. If he'd harboured any illusions that having a roof over his head and secure walls around him would make it easier to close his eyes and sleep for more than a thirty minute stretch, he was sadly mistaken. He found himself always looking toward the door of her cell, hyper-vigilant for signs that anything was amiss and missing the warmth of her smaller body at his back. Sleep didn't come easier to him inside than it had when they were on the road.

Whatever feelings of discomfort he had were easily pushed aside however when he saw the effect of regular sleep, a couple of decent meals and a little less strain on the women. Hope flared in them, bright and burning, pulling them closer together as they began to try to make the cell block feel like home, the only home they'd had since leaving the farm in late summer. They were the beating heart of the group he realised. Without the women to bind them, to provide the warmth that they all needed, there was little chance that the group would have stayed together as long as it had.

When Hershel was bitten and they encountered the surviving prisoners, his only thought had been for the safety of the people who had stayed behind in the cell block. He could have put a bolt through the eye of each and every one of the prisoners there and then to guarantee the safety of his family, might have done too if they hadn't had to get the old man somewhere safe where they could stop the bleeding from Rick's amputation. He had waited for them though, knowing that they would follow, perched on a table with his bow aimed at the door. It had taken him a heartbeat to size up the leader of that particular crew and decide that the guy was trouble, it was in his eyes, snake-like and predatory. Daryl had known that he could never be trusted, that he would turn on them without hesitation when he considered the time was right. He would have killed the man where he stood, laid down his life for the people who were behind the locked door behind him without hesitation, but dying had never been a part of his plan and Rick had talked them into a compromise.

By the end of the day there were only two of the original five prisoners left, one lost to walkers, another, the leader, killed by Rick when he turned on them, the third had run directly out into a yard filled with walkers. The remaining two, both of them seemingly good men, had been left in a cell block of their own because neither he nor Rick were prepared to put any of their family in harm's way on a whim. He may have understood men like Axel and Oscar but that didn't mean that he wanted any man who'd been incarcerated for any length of time around the women who were fighting to save Hershel's life, not with Lori in her present condition. They didn't want them around Beth who was barely more than a kid and had the whole blue-eyed and blonde thing going for her, and he certainly didn't want them anywhere near Carol. They had trusted before and they had been burned. He was not about to let that happen again.


	6. Losses

The day of Judith's birth was the day he had to face up to a truth he had almost allowed himself to forget – life was not something to be taken for granted. The group was not invulnerable and even within the prison walls they could sustain losses.

He was at the far side of the prison complex with Rick and Glenn when they saw the walkers in the yard. They had marvelled at Hershel's resilience after seeing him up on his feet and out on the yard for the first time since the amputation, whooping and cheering their encouragement, and then suddenly there were walkers everywhere. Hearing Rick scream for Lori and seeing the bewildered and terrified expressions on the faces of their people trapped behind the fences, he'd had only one thought and his legs were carrying him towards the gates as fast as he could move.

He had been the one who found her head covering on the ground near to T-Dogg's ravaged corpse when he and Rick, accompanied by Oscar and Axel, headed into the prison to find the generators and shut down the alarms. There were no words that he could say, no breath with which to form them, so he had just picked up the length of fabric, twisting it around his fingers and then tucking it into his pocket. It seemed impossible that she could have survived, especially when their continued search turned up no sign of her. Heavy hearted, they returned to the yard contemplating the losses that had seemed catastrophic. But there was worse still to come.

The moment that Maggie and Carl had emerged from another cell block, a squalling newborn wrapped in the boy's shirt and clutched to Maggie's chest, they had known that nothing was going to be the same. They hadn't needed to see the traumatised expression on Maggie's face or the blood that covered her up to her elbows, they'd all noticed the space where Lori should have been. All of them understood what her absence meant. They had lost three of their group in one day including the baby's mother and it sobered them all.

He had volunteered to go on a run to get the baby formula they needed, taking Maggie and raiding a former daycare a couple of miles from the prison, unable to cope with the idea of losing another member of the group. Determined not to let anything happen to the baby that Carol and Lori had worried about all through the winter, he had done what needed to be done to save her. He might not have been there when Carol needed him but he could damn well make sure that he was there for the baby in this small way. He owed that much to Rick, while the sheriff couldn't be a father to his newborn, Daryl would watch over her and keep her safe in his stead, just as he would all of their people.

Later when they had returned with the formula, he cradled her in his arms, absorbing the tiny weight of the bundle that filled the space from his elbow to wrist perfectly, and he had promised her dead mother and the woman who had fought so hard for her that he would protect her until his dying breath. Feeding her for the first time, rocking her gently as he marvelled at the miracle of new life in a world where they were surrounded by death, he had mourned just for a moment the fact that he would never see this tiny human being healing a small part of Carol Peletier's heart.


	7. Memory

He'd once speculated that the women of the group were like its beating heart but he hadn't realised how true that was until he saw how Rick grieved. He hadn't realised how true it was until he had faced Carol's death and a truth that he had denied to himself for longer than he cared to admit. _She_ was the beating heart in his chest, the blood that burned in his veins. He realised it far too late of course, story of his life, he realised a lot of things too late. His heart had stopped, when it had believed she was gone.

Something inside of him snapped when he realised that her last moments had probably been spent terrified and alone. He hadn't been there for her. Just like he had always done before, he had let her down when it really mattered. The ache in his chest just wouldn't leave, twisting and burning with every breath he took. It didn't seem to matter what he did, he couldn't get the anger out of him. No matter how many walkers he took down, how many times he slammed his booted foot or clenched fist into the nearest wall, it just refused to leave.

He stood at the side of the grave that they had dug for her, nothing more than an empty hole in the ground, an empty hole to bury the end of everything he had come to think of as home in. He felt their eyes on him while they waited for him to speak for her. He wanted to but found that he couldn't, he'd never had a way with words. Had he spoken he would have shattered into a million pieces and none of them could have rebuilt him. Glenn had suggested that they bury her scarf, the one she had worn the previous day and he had found, just so that the grave contained something of hers, but Daryl hadn't been able to part with it, it remained in the inside pocket of his vest, just over his heart, still smelling of her.

The following morning, he slipped out before first light and searched the woods surrounding the prison. At sunrise he made the lonely trek to her grave and allowed himself to feel everything that he had locked away when he had stood there with the others. He kept his tears at bay but he honoured her memory and all the things that she had done for him by laying a single Cherokee rose at the foot of the simple wooden cross. He had told her once that the roses bloomed when tears were shed and he believed that although he hadn't shed his own tears, this particular rose had bloomed for her memory.

Carol had been soft where he was hard, gentle when he was rough, compassionate when he was cold, and more than anything, strong while he was broken. He would count the cost of her passing for each remaining day of his life.


	8. Grace

He sat in the hallway with his back to the wall after finding Carol's knife in the neck of a walker, unable to think about anything but her last moments. Finally he allowed himself to lose control, breaking down in a way he hadn't let himself break down since he was a kid and he had realised that his brother had gone and left him alone with his father. On the rare occasions that he had shed tears since then, including the previous day after he had visited her grave, it had been a single tear that had escaped before he got a grip on himself. Thinking about Carol, he found that he couldn't hold them back.

For what felt like hours he sat alone in the cell block, fighting to control the emotions that surged and seethed in him, making him unstable and too dangerous to be around other people. The rage was bright and blinding, a need for movement and violence that had him burying her knife into the floor and wall over and over. A door moved, across the hall, the door that he had concluded a weakened walker was trapped behind when he, Oscar and Carl had cleared the block of any lingering walkers, its movement drawing his attention. Back and forth. Back and forth. Gentle movement, not even strong enough to push aside the fallen walker that blocked it from opening.

In a coordinated surge Daryl rose to his feet to lash out with a vicious kick at the moving closet door, before pacing back and forth along the narrow walkway, temper driving him, muscles screaming for an outlet of all the pent-up frustration. She should have survived, should have lived longer than the rest of them combined because that woman had suffered more than her share in her lifetime. With his fury still riding him, he watched the door, tracking it's movement, arguing with himself but unable to stop himself from doing what he knew he was working up to. The walker in that room was about the pay the debt for Carol, he knew that once he started stabbing he wouldn't be able to stop.

Gripping Carol's knife between his teeth, he dragged the fallen walker across the hallway and hauled open the door, ready to destroy whatever was behind it with every ounce of savagery that was in him. He felt the rush as the stale, overheated air escaped from the room and he lunged, only to realise that there was no walker. There was no enemy waiting to meet him, just one small figure slumped against the wall. As if in slow motion, her head turned toward him, blue eyes fluttering as she struggled to stay awake. Carol.

Hardly daring to believe his eyes, sure that he had to be dreaming, Daryl crouched down and gently took her chin between his fingers, lifting her face so that he could see her better. Despite being dirty and sweat stained, she was the most beautiful sight his eyes could have conjured up. She put up no resistance when he touched her, eyes fighting against the exhaustion so that she could meet his gaze. He saw wonder and hope in those eyes as they searched his features. Wondering whether she thought she was hallucinating his presence, he murmured soft words to her, swiftly assessing her for injury with his gaze. His anger dissipated in an instant, replaced by a bone deep concern over her condition. Days she had been missing, locked away in a tiny room with the stifling heat and no supplies, she needed medical attention if she was going to survive.

She weighed next to nothing in his arms, fit against him so reassuringly, as he carried her along the hall and towards safety. He didn't talk to her, understanding that she was too weak to form words with which to answer him. There would be time for talking later, there would be time for him to deal with his emotional responses later, right now he needed to get her somewhere comfortable and get some water into her. Even as she drifted in and out of consciousness, he was reassured by the feeling of her arm around his neck and the small sounds she made as she breathed.

It didn't take long for her to perk up when he got her back to their cell block and laid her out on her bunk. After drinking some water, eating a little and taking a nap, she seemed remarkably revived. Unable to believe his good fortune, terrified to let her out of his sight in case she simply disappeared, he had stayed at her side the whole time, watching over her as she slept, taking reassurance from the steady rise and fall of her chest. While he waited for the others to return from wherever they were, he counted his blessings and thought back on the memories that had tormented him so much in recent days but now offered him comfort.

Hours later, after she had rested, he had watched her tearful reunion with the others, witnessing her tears as she counted who was among them and who was not. He hadn't told her about Lori or the baby, hadn't reminded her that T-Dogg was gone or wanted to bring her any more pain in those precious hours while he sat at her side and marvelled that she was still alive. Her movements were slow, painful as though each step was almost more than her weakened body could tolerate, but she forced herself up to hug each of them, to offer condolences to Rick and to greet the newest member of their family.

Daryl watched her take the baby in her arms and he mourned her loss as a mother all over again, seeing the tenderness with which she observed the newborn and the easy way she adjusted her in her arms made him sorry that she would probably never have another child of her own. The pain that appeared so fleetingly in her eyes told him exactly when she thought back to Sophia as an infant and the tender moments she must have shared with her own daughter. He counted her tears and he watched every trace of emotion that flickered in her features, holding the images close, storing them among the bank of memories he had collected of their time together over the last few months. Dammit but he was going to have to do something about the way he felt about her, what he didn't know, but he knew that he was as much her now as he was himself, her life so entwined with his that he no longer knew quite where he ended and she began.

He realised that he was never going to get tired of watching her, the way she moved, the way she smiled, the soft look in her eyes that only seemed to appear when she thought no-one was watching her. Like a voyeur he stole those moments and held them close. She was his miracle, a bright, flaming beacon that gave him something to cling to. That night, when she was once again sleeping, he finally admitted to himself that without her his life was empty and began to wonder what that meant for them both.


	9. Parting

As could be predicted, he didn't have the time to enjoy Carol's return. Just as he was beginning to face up to the fact that he had to man up and confess that he no longer thought of her in a strictly platonic way, the newcomer Michonne, announced that Glenn and Maggie had been taken hostage during a supply run. He wasn't entirely sure that he trusted the woman, she wasn't one of their own and she had a certain look in her eye that made him uneasy about leaving her anywhere near Carol, Beth and the baby, but her injuries told a story of their own and they couldn't leave their people in the hands of a man like the one she described. Less than twelve hours after bringing Carol back, he was already preparing to leave the prison in search of their friends.

It wasn't that he wanted to go, at the moment the thought of being away from her again was almost crippling, but he had known that he owed it to Rick and the others. The sheriff had a newborn and a grieving son to think about and he remembered all too clearly the pain that he had felt when he found out that his brother had been left behind. Months might have passed and he might have moved past the worst of that pain, but it still stung. He wouldn't, couldn't, leave them out there. The decision had been made quickly and the plan formed within an hour of them finding out where their friends were most likely being held.

While he, Rick, Oscar and Michonne prepared to leave, Daryl struggled with his own conflict; he knew that he needed to be out there at Rick's right hand, that his ability to kill almost silently with his bow was essential on a mission like this when the odds were so firmly stacked against them, but his heart didn't want to leave her behind, not so soon after it had gone through the agony of mourning for her. Any doubt that he had was eliminated the moment he glanced at her across the cell block, the baby nestled in her arms, a soft yet determined look on her face. He had seen a silent plea for him to bring Maggie and Glenn home safely in that look, and he had taken all the strength he needed from it.

She was by the door when he brought out the last of the weapons that they were taking to Woodbury, leaning against the gate with the baby in her arms, absorbed in the kicking and flailing of the little form that she cradled so naturally. Such a giving woman, a person who couldn't help but nurture those around her and want to heal their hurts. He had so much that he wanted to say to her, he wanted to tell her that he couldn't stand the thought of her being hurt, that he wanted to keep her close to him always, to be there when she fell asleep and when she woke up, to curl his body around hers in the dark and sleep with a knife in his hand so that he could always defend her, but his mouth and his brain failed him. Feelings coursed through him, yet he had no power to put them into words. Despite knowing how important it was to say things when he had the chance in case he didn't return, he couldn't put himself on the floor at her feet and offer her everything because that kind of vulnerability terrified him. How could the same woman, the gentlest creature he knew, instil such fear and inspire such strength all at the same time?

He paused at her side, looking down at her from his greater height, taking in the details of her face and the smile in her eyes when she stopped cooing to the baby and looked up at him. This was what he wanted, he wanted to be under the weight of that gaze for the rest of his days, to feel his heart speed up and slow down all at the same time. Unable to form words that would eloquently sum up what he wanted to say, he instead told her to stay safe and hoped that was enough.

The amused chuckle that she offered him, the half-smile and the comment about having nine lives reminded him that she was still Carol, that no matter what the world threw at her it couldn't rob her of that sense of humour that he found so damn adorable. She might have still been recovering physically but her will was indestructible, forged of iron or diamonds. Nine lives were still too few in his opinion but he didn't argue with her, or remind her that she must have already worked through half of those nine lives already. All he could hope was that when he came back, when he found whatever words he could offer her, she would consider sharing at least one of those nine lives with him.

There was something in her eyes when she looked at him then, that he would later come to understand, an affection born and bred from months on the road, a hundred moments where one of them had come through for the other and they had pulled one another back from the edge, and there was something else. He nodded once to her, acknowledging what he saw there and watched for her reaction. Carol smiled at him, it was brief but like a shooting star in the night sky, unmistakable. Just before he walked away, she looked him full in the face, her eyes roving over his features as if she wanted to memorise them. He saw a demand in those eyes that he come back safe, that he protect those who travelled with him, and beneath all of that he saw a promise that she would be waiting for him when he returned.


	10. Choices

Getting into Woodbury hadn't been a problem but getting out had been considerably more difficult, particularly with Glenn's physical condition. They'd had no choice but to make their presence felt when they realised that their missing friends were most likely about to be executed and they'd had to take out the guards who were moving them from the holding cell. Predictably, things could not run smoothly for them on the way out of town and once the alarm was raised, there seemed to be armed guards and equally armed civilians everywhere.

Seeing little alternative as the bullets and smoke grenades flew, Daryl had offered to lay down some cover for the others so that they could get Glenn and Maggie over the barricade and out of town. He knew in that moment that he was making a choice that could have made his unspoken promise to Carol impossible to fulfil, but he had known that if he had to die, he could do so knowing that he had kept half of that promise. He took on the responsibility of ensuring that they made it out alive, even though it meant that he did not.

Captured by the Governor's soldiers and half dragged through the town with a bag over his head and both hands tied at his back, he had been sure that he was about to die. With every stumbled step, he had thought of the people he was leaving behind, offering up one of his infrequent prayers to a God he had never really believed in, and never been able to let go of, that they would be safe. Turned out they had no intention of killing him themselves, they had another plan for him.

When they finally pulled the bag from his head and he got his first look at the Governor, a chill ran through him. Soulless, that's what his mama would've said about the man in front of him, the man riling up a crowd that surrounded a fighting ring within the town walls. Daryl hated him on sight because he saw him for exactly what he was. Disoriented, he glanced around, trying to make sense of his surroundings, looking for an escape route and instead he found his brother.

Laying eyes on Merle, alive and breathing, after so many months of believing that he was dead, would have felt like a dream come true if not for the fact that he found himself at the centre of a mob who were baying for his blood. No, not just his blood, not after the Governor was through spewing his hatred and lies about Merle being a traitor and Daryl himself being a looter, they wanted _their _blood. He saw Merle's expression when he saw him, the flicker of surprise quickly hidden behind a mask of indifference. That old familiar hurt flared up in him, catapulting him back to when he was a kid and he'd had to watch the brother he idolised walking away from him with barely more than a backward glance. Lost in a haze of painful past memories, Daryl barely heard the order for he and Merle to fight to the death, or the words that poured from his brother's mouth and proclaimed that he would do whatever was necessary to prove his loyalty to the town of Woodbury.

They fought. Daryl holding his brother off, trying to figure out the play and make it look convincing at the same time while the crowd screamed their encouragement. Amid the screaming and the snarling of the walkers that had been brought out to liven up the proceedings, he caught his brothers eyes and he knew that nothing had changed. Before Atlanta it had always been him and Merle against the world, now it was him and Merle fighting for their own survival. As they had done a dozen times before when the odds were against them, they pushed aside their differences of opinion and focused on the outer threat. Back to back, shoulder to shoulder, they lashed out with fists and fury, filled with a new determination to survive the encounter or die side by side.

The staccato rhythm of automatic weapons was the sweetest of sounds, causing the crowd to panic and scatter as several of the guards and a couple of civilians fell to the ground. Smoke grenades spewed smoke into the arena and further gunfire exploded into the night, lights shattering under the assault and plunging the arena into darkness that was lit only by flaming torches. Amid the terror and confusion, Daryl grabbed his brother's arm and hauled him from the arena, stopping to reclaim his bow from the guard who had taken it as his own and feeling great satisfaction in putting him on the ground as he did so.

The rescue party consisted of only Maggie and Rick, who had come back for him. They weren't happy about Merle being there and Daryl understood that. His brother had always had a knack for putting people on edge, like a fox in a hen-house Merle had a real talent for stirring things up. Daryl hadn't known what to think, aside from a feeling of stunned disbelief that the world had seen fit to reunite them against all the odds. Trudging through the woods on the way back to the car, Daryl had taken in the familiar swaggering walk, listened to the constant remarks that left his brothers mouth and had known that it was real, Merle was back, the only differences being the metal knife mount with which he had replaced his severed hand and a leaner build.

The arguments as to whether Merle and Michonne should return to the prison were difficult to stomach. Daryl had spent months mourning the loss of his brother, believing with every breath that he had failed him, and now he was faced with a choice that left him cold. None of the others would contemplate having Merle at the prison, not one of them could accept that there were potential benefits to the situation as well as the obvious drawbacks of putting Glenn and Maggie in close quarters with the man who had abducted and tortured them. He couldn't argue with their views, had it been anyone but his brother, he would have shared them, but he couldn't leave him behind.

Round and round in circles they went, arguing back and forth, the nauseous feeling in the pit of Daryl's stomach getting stronger with each passing moment.

Telling them that he wouldn't be going back with them was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. After a winter where they had watched over one another, after so much shared loss and pain and joy, he was about to walk out on them when they potentially needed him the most. The thought of leaving them vulnerable, of one of them having to explain to Carol that he had left them, left her, was almost unbearable. In the seconds after he had voiced his intentions to leave with his brother, Daryl found his resolve wavering, the need to stay with Merle warring with his desire to return to Carol, emotions spinning like a violent centrifuge.

Even as he gathered his things and walked away, he could feel the wrenching pain of leaving them all behind. Seeing Glenn all beaten up, Maggie holding him up despite having been through her own ordeal, seeing the ravaged expression on Rick's face, had made him want to reconsider. He could almost imagine the way that Carol would panic when they came back without him, the immediate fear that would make her assume that he wasn't with them because he had been killed. The thought of causing her more pain, even a flicker of emotional discomfort, was like a knife in his ribs. But he couldn't have what he wanted, he wanted the family he had made and the family he came from in the same place and it wasn't going to happen. He had told the others that Carol would understand his reasons for leaving and he prayed that he was right, because as he walked away with Merle he wasn't sure that he did.


	11. Truths

Although he loved his brother, had always loved him, he had been easier to like when he was missing. Daryl had always forgiven Merle for his verbal outbursts, his offensive language, the way that he seemed to terrorise others without a second thought, and a whole host of other things because they were blood. Nothing had been more sacred in the Dixon household than the bond of shared blood. No matter what they did, no matter how awful, it was to be forgiven and on account of his quieter nature he had always struggled to stand up to his relatives.

Now, on his own with his brother, Daryl found it difficult to remember why he had always bowed to Merle, why he had let his own instincts be butchered by first their father and then by Merle himself. He listened to the words that left his brother's mouth and he felt an irritation that had never been there before. Maybe it came from the fact that when he had been with the group his opinions had been valued, his instincts had been trusted. Maybe it was the pain in his chest that made him repeatedly reach up and rub his left pectoral through the fabric of his shirt. Maybe it was down to the fact that he proved to himself that he could survive without his brother in the months he had been missing. Now he was expected to follow and though he had always done so in the past, wary of his brother's temper and unpredictability, he found that it didn't sit right with him.

Hours passed by, and the feeling of peace, the sense that he had made the right choice, didn't come to him. Daryl found his steps getting heavier and heavier, the regret over leaving the others behind eating away at him until it felt like he had a cavernous hole in the centre of his chest. His brother's heavy booted footsteps and constant barbed remarks announced their arrival to all wildlife in the vicinity and ensured that they both remained hungry as they headed deeper into the forest. Any and all suggestions that he made were shot down in that old familiar way that had once made him feel inferior but now only stirred an anger in his gut that he had never felt toward his only sibling.

Not understanding his frustration, Daryl fell into a churning introspection, desperately trying to figure out why he wasn't happier about being reunited with his brother when once it had been the only thing he wanted. There was something close to resentment in the way he felt, an anger that he had been made to choose between the relationships he'd built and one which, when he was being brutally honest with himself, he had to admit wasn't healthy. When he had thought Merle was dead it had hurt like hell but it hadn't been the kind of pain he'd experienced when he had thought Carol was gone, now he was mourning again but not for another, for a part of himself. He mourned the chances lost by leaving and a potential future that he would never know with the woman who had indelibly altered him.

The argument started late in the afternoon, both of them pissed off and ready to swing for one another, Daryl because he no longer wanted to be 'baby brother' but treated as a man in his own right, and Merle because he couldn't understand the change in his brother and kept pushing at things that were better left alone. He had never understood the concept of leaving well alone. Some things, it seemed, never changed.

When he heard the cries, he had recognised them immediately, too much time spent around Lil Asskicker to mistake those cries for anything other than what they were, despite Merle's insistence that the sounds were the mating call of a cougar. Impulse drove him forward and into a clearing where he could see a family under attack by walkers on a nearby bridge. His feet were moving before his brain caught up, instinct demanding that he help the family as best he could and save the baby.

Barely aware of Merle's grumbling presence at his heels, he moved quickly to reduce the number of walkers. The family was Hispanic; a middle-aged man and teenage boy, defending themselves as best they could from the back of a flatbed truck while a woman took cover in the passenger seat of their car, the infant in her arms. Daryl unleashed his frustration on the creatures that came at him, with crossbow and blade he took them apart, saving the family and from almost certain death with only the most reluctant help from his brother. That was the difference between them, he realised as he watched his brother throw open the back door of the car and begin to rifle through the belongings of the people he had just risked his ass to save, Merle was still locked in the redneck mindset that their daddy had instilled in them. He had raised his weapon only once during the skirmish and then only to cover Daryl, never to help the those that he felt were beneath his notice, which seemed to cover anyone of any disposition or ethnicity other than white and American.

For the first and only time, he found himself putting a weapon to his brother's head and ordering him to let the family go. Tension flared between them, disbelief turning to anger on Merle's end and determination on Daryl's own. He didn't let Merle out of his sights until the car was gone, peeling off the bridge in a screech of tyres and exhaust fumes and only then did he move, striding away before he could say something that he would later regret. His brother once again followed in his wake.

Still seething he lashed out when Merle started in on him again, choosing words rather than fists as his weapons. Months with the others had taught him to curb his more instinctive violent impulses, now he rounded angrily on his brother, his words like daggers as he told him a few home truths that he knew Merle wouldn't want to hear. The barbed words hit home, he knew it the moment Merle realised that he meant it when he told him that he had deserved to be left on that rooftop in Atlanta. Words between them became heated, an exchange of criticism and accusations that just hammered home how much Daryl had evolved in the time spent out of his brother's shadow, culminating in Merle reaching out and tearing the shirt from Daryl's back.

The silence was terrible. Forced to his knee by the momentum of Merle's movement, Daryl bowed his head as the breeze brushed the exposed skin of his back, understanding what the silence meant. For much of his childhood and the entirety of his adult life he had carried the secret that was written into his skin. It was his own private shame, the evidence of his weakness and the building blocks of the man he had become. He had never shown anyone the scars. Not once had he told his brother what he had endured at the hands of their father, he had never admitted to anyone what was done to him in that house, all the times he was beaten, all the times he was left the fend for himself, all the times his childhood self had been forced to try to patch up his own wounds...

Nobody knew the scars that he bore; both physical and emotional. Except for one person who had sensed the fragility in him and moved only as quickly as he could tolerate. One person who had shown him day in, day out, in a thousand small ways, that scars did not have to unmake a person. One woman who carried the same kind of scars on her soul.

"I didn't know..." Merle's only comment. So much pain in his voice that Daryl hadn't been able to listen to it. Of course he had known, how could he not have known? Merle had scars just like his, true he didn't have as many, but they were there, Daryl had seen them with his own eyes. The difference was that Merle wore his scars like armour, made up stories of how he got them to impress women who liked hard men and the illusion of sleeping with the bad guy. He made his scars a part of himself, wove the truth into a fabric of lies that helped him to portray the image he wanted the world to see.

Covering up his back, feeling too exposed with the scars out in the open, he shrugged his pack back onto his shoulders and announced that he was going back to the prison, that he belonged there. He meant it too, knew that the words, however painful, were the ones that had circled in his chest all day. He no longer belonged in Merle's shadow, no longer wanted a life without the people he now considered to be family. He was the one walking away this time but unlike when he was a kid, he had given his brother the choice to follow. It wouldn't be easy, there were obstacles to be overcome, lots of obstacles, some of them so huge that he doubted there would ever be real trust between some of the others and his brother, but he was confident that he could keep Merle in line.

With every step back toward the prison, he fought the urge to hasten his pace, conscious always of his brother following a short distance behind and the reluctance of his steps. No matter how eager he was to get back, to see one particular face however mad she might be with him, he couldn't let his brother know what she meant to him. Merle had an instinct for weakness, if he sensed that Carol was special to him, he wouldn't be able to help himself from trying to exploit that. He didn't want his brother pulling any of that domineering crap with his woman, not ever. Though every step felt lighter than the last, his chest aching for the opportunity to breathe her in, his eyes desperate for a glimpse of her face, for the time being they would have to be nothing but friends in his brother's eyes. Daryl could keep his mouth shut for a little while longer, hell he would crawl over broken glass for the woman and that smile in her eyes, he'd never given her words yet but they'd gotten damn good at communicating without them. He would find a way to show her what she meant to him, away from the prying eyes of the others. He would find a way to keep the moment just between them and hope that she didn't shoot him down in flames.


	12. Home

**A.N: **I'd just like to thank anyone out there who is reading, following or reviewing this story. I'm so pleased that you gave it a chance and that you decided to stick with it. Your feedback and support means a lot to me.

Okay, we're going a little off script here. That first sighting of Carol when Daryl returns to the prison was a gap that I had to fill. Hope you enjoy it!

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As far as timing was concerned, he and Merle couldn't have picked a better time to return to the prison. The instant that he cleared the tree line and saw the walkers swarming over the grounds, he had felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach and known that he never should have left them. In their first show of agreement since he had unleashed his temper in the woods, he and his brother had both seen the Governor's hand at work in what waited for them. In a typical 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' move, Merle forgot his animosity toward Rick and recognised the merits of a combined approach when dealing with common foe. Though he was a jackass in more regards than Daryl could count, military experience was ingrained in him and Merle knew a tactical advantage when he saw one.

They had moved fast, survival instinct taking over, both he and Merle rushing forward to save Rick from an onslaught of walkers outside the fence. Finding the sheriff out of ammo exhausted and somehow more fragile than he had been when they left him outside Woodbury, Daryl watched his friend with concern, always keeping track of his brother and their surroundings. He tried to figure out the dynamic, tasting the emotional currents on the air and simultaneously riding a wave of adrenaline that made him want to tear something apart. The perimeter fence had been breached, gates torn clear off by the forward momentum of a truck that had blasted straight through the gates to deliver a truck full of shambling reanimated corpses to their doorstep. As far as statements went the Governor had made a powerful one right there, reminding them all that he was a man unburdened by morals and hell-bent on retaliation for his imagined slights.

They had to move carefully, Merle watching his back while he kept Rick moving, knives and bow at the ready in case of trouble. With every step Daryl felt the tension in him building, sure that something was wrong. The outer walls of the prison were too quiet, other than the truck that sat outside the cell block, doors still open as if it had been abandoned in a hurry, there were no signs of life. Where were Glenn and Maggie, Carl, Beth and Michonne? Above it all though, one thought forced its way to the surface, where was Carol? He fought the rising tide of dread inside him, if any one of his family had been hurt during this attack he wouldn't stop until he had made a statement of his own and the heads of the Governor and his men were on spikes around the walls of this prison.

Carl was in the yard when they got there, eyeing Merle with barely concealed suspicion until Rick nodded that he should open the gate and let them in. It was fortunate that the look Daryl gave his brother was enough to warn him away from making any smart mouthed remarks. If he wanted a place with them, Merle was going to have to learn to play nice, even if it killed him. As soon as they had taken stock of the situation inside, he was going to make sure that his brother made amends with the others, any other course of action would be insupportable to him. Daryl wanted his entire family where he could see them, where he could know without doubt that they were safe.

They were all there when they stepped into the cell block, gathered around Hershel who was leaning heavily on one crutch and another, smaller figure curled up in one of the hard plastic chairs. Gaze moving from one face to the next, he looked for the one that he always sought when he came back from a hunt, for those bright sapphire eyes that always made him feel like the world wasn't falling away from under his feet. It wasn't until Maggie moved to help her father into a chair nearby and Glenn moved with her, keeping his own body between his girl and Merle, that he was able to see what they were so focussed on.

A shrouded figure lay on the ground, hastily wrapped for burial by the survivors, its hand gripped tightly in the bloodstained fingers of another member of the group who was the centre of everyone's attention. Daryl died a little at what he saw in that chair, heart and breath stopping as his brain shorted out on him. Carol didn't look up, didn't move, didn't even seem to be breathing as Beth cleaned the blood off from her skin with gentle movements. She didn't respond to anything that was done or said to her, simply stared at something no-one else could see. The blood in his veins turned to ice as he searched for the source of the bleeding and found nothing that would account for the red stains that seemed to cover every inch of her, then turned to gasoline as snippets of conversation began to permeate the fog that hung over his consciousness.

She had been standing right next to Axel when he was shot and the blood that painted her skin belonged to the man who had inadvertently saved her life. Listening to Maggie describe how Carol had taken cover behind his body, using the prison inmate as a shield against the gunfire that the Governor's henchmen had rained down on them, he couldn't breathe again, just couldn't physically draw enough air into his lungs. Unaware of cranking his hands into fists until he felt Rick's hand land on his arm, he reined in his anger by force of will, knowing that it had no place there, conscious of his brother at his side even though Merle seemed as captivated by the tableau in front of them as he was.

As if she sensed his presence, Carol's face lifted toward him, her eyes seeking him out. Dimmed by pain and shock, those eyes locked with his and her pain swept through him as surely as if it were his own. He wanted to push Beth out of the way and take over where she left off, wanted to wrap his arms around her, he wanted to carry her back to her cell and watch over as she slept with his bow aimed at the door, because he saw clearly what the others didn't, what they couldn't: she was hanging by a thread, the slightest knock, a wrong word and she would shatter. "You're back," she remarked, voice barely above a whisper. It was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard.

Daryl cleared his throat, shuffled his feet slightly, uneasy with the words that suddenly wanted to flow out of him, wishing that this reunion could have taken place anywhere but under the noses of the rest of the group. "I'm back," he confirmed, keeping his voice level, hoping she could read the words he wasn't saying in his body language and his eyes. He wanted her to know that he was back to stay, that he wasn't leaving again unless they told him to, that even if Merle were to up and leave, he would be staying. Under the weight of that stare he forgot about the people around them, the world narrowing down to her eyes and the acceptance he found there.

She straightened her shoulders, and offered the younger Greene sister a slight smile of thanks, rebuilding herself right in front of him. Holding his gaze as Beth continued to clean Axel's blood from her skin, she seemed to take a deep breath and release some of the rigidity from her muscles. "Good."


	13. Understanding

For the next forty-eight hours, he barely saw her. He had been occupied with making sure his brother didn't stir up any more trouble than was strictly necessary and keeping tempers from fraying when Glenn realised that Merle was there to stay. Hell he understood the animosity, that was why he'd agreed that Merle should stay out of the cell block and away from the others, forcing him to bed down in one of the storage cages at the far side of the communal area. It wasn't easy for him to see his brother shut out but trust was a two-way street and until the others got used to the idea, Merle would just have to keep a low profile.

When he wasn't needed in the cell block, or on watch duty, he took Merle through the tombs and out through the crumbling administration block, making sure that the number of walkers was kept down and there was enough food to fill everyone's bellies now that the supplies were beginning to run low. They never went far from the prison but the hunting trips gave him time to lay down the law to his brother about what was acceptable around the others and what was not. Hunting was one thing that he and Merle could do standing on their heads, as well as being the easiest way that his brother could contribute to the group without making a big deal out of it. To his credit Merle seemed more than happy to contribute, he'd been pretty quiet since they'd found Axel's body in the cell block on the day they arrived, restraining his instinct to push people's buttons because he knew that if Rick tossed him out he had nowhere to go.

Carol had been quiet in the days since Axel's death but she had carried on with a resilience that astounded him. He watched over her as they burned the body, all of them regretting that they couldn't bury him alongside the rest of their dead where he belonged. It was surprising that any of them had any tears left after all the death they had seen, it truly was, but there were tears and there were words of sorrow that expressed just how completely they had all accepted the convict into their family. He had lost his life as one of them and in doing so he had saved Carol from almost certain death, for that Daryl would ever be thankful.

She sought him out the day after the funeral, waiting until Merle was on watch and most of the others were elsewhere. She caught him in one of the darkest moments he'd had since his return, a moment where he was seriously contemplating the security of the place they called home and whether the added burden of being responsible for Merle on top of his other duties would leave him time to look after her.

He was in the cell that he had recently taken as his own, stretched out on his bunk and restlessly playing with one of his crossbow bolts, imagining the satisfaction of driving it deep into the skull of the Governor or one of his men. Rick and Glenn had told him how Carol had reacted to his disappearance, cautioning him to give her time and let her make the first move when they had noticed the distance between them.

At the sight of her in the doorway, his heart clenched painfully, she was looking thin again, tired too, stress and too many late nights with the baby taking their toll on her. She was alive though and she was there, that was what mattered, everything else was just details.

Hesitating on the threshold as if unsure of her welcome, her eyes sought out his own again, holding his gaze for a fraction of a second longer than she had to, leaning against the door frame of the cell. "I haven't had a chance to say, I'm glad you came back," she announced, breaking the silence.

Daryl felt a weight he hadn't been aware of lift from the centre of his chest. He had a thousand things that he wanted to say. He couldn't formulate a single one of them into a coherent thought. "To what, all this?" he asked, using the arrow to in his hand to gesture to his surroundings. Her eyes followed the movement, taking in the peeling paint and the furniture that had been bolted to the floor to stop the previous occupant hurling it at prison guards.

As if she had found the welcome she had been waiting for, she stepped inside and sat down on the upturned box that stood against the opposite wall. " This is our home," she told him. He wanted to close his eyes and absorb the sound of her voice, to hear those tones that seemed to stroke his soul and make his heart open up for her. The prison was not his home, if home was where the heart was then his was with the petite, blue-eyed woman who stared at him now.

"This is a tomb," he replied. He didn't mean it, not in the way it sounded, it was just that in his current mindset with the latest death in their number so close, he couldn't hold it back. When he saw the way she stiffened, he wished that he had. It was just a moment but it was one that he could have spared her if only he had chosen his words more carefully.

"That's what T-Dogg called it," she told him, keeping her eyes fixed on the wall opposite her, head tilted toward upwards in the way she had stood before the statue of Jesus when she was praying for Sophia's safe return. Even in her pain he found her breathtaking, the light falling on her face in a way that made her look like an angel. "Thought he was right too," she added, turning to look at him again, "until you found me."

Unable to form any response that would suitably acknowledge the look that she saw in her eyes and repay the belief that she had in him, he offered her the only thing he could, a smile. It was just a quick quirk of his lips, he wasn't a smiler by nature after all. Anger and aggression had always ran thick in him and his life had never given him much to smile about, but Carol, she spoke to the lighter side of his nature, the softer side that he had buried so deeply he hadn't even known it existed until she resurrected it breath by breath.

For what seemed like an age they just stared at one another, neither of them quite knowing what to say. She looked away again and then looked back at him, as if gathering her courage to say words that she knew he wasn't going to like. "He's your brother," she exclaimed, her tone filled with an understanding that Daryl had hoped for but hadn't really deserved, "but he's not good for you."

Funny how she could say so few words and yet say so much, hadn't he thought something remarkably similar while he was trekking through the forest with Merle? He had expected her anger, prepared himself for it and been ready to lie down at her feet and beg for her forgiveness, believing as he did that if he had been at the prison Axel would still be alive, instead she gave him exactly what he needed to hear.

"Don't let him drag you down, after all look how far you've come," she added quietly. Coming from almost anyone but Carol, the words might have angered him but when she spoke them he could acknowledge the truth of the ways he had changed in the last year. He was no more the man he was a year ago than she was the quiet little mouse who had put up with Ed's violence. They stared at one another, the air heavy with something that he couldn't name, and then their shared laughter broke the spell.

She stayed for a while, conversation flowing as easily between as it always had, ending up with him curling up his longer legs to make space for her on the end of his bunk. He didn't notice it happening but eventually he wound up sitting at her side, his shoulder against hers as she filled him in on what had happened in his absence and updating him on how Lil Asskicker was getting on. She leaned her head carefully against his shoulder while she talked, her neck relaxing only when she felt the tension ease from him as well. Edging closer, he rested his arm along the length of her own, keeping the contact between them friendly and reassuring even as his brain seemed to stutter and his lungs struggled to remember how to work.

The light was beginning to fail and the shadows growing longer when she left, hurrying off to help prepare dinner for everyone. Daryl sat a while longer, mind turning over a different set of possibilities than the ones that had consumed him earlier. It had hurt her when he didn't come back, he had hurt her. She was careful not to say it and he was almost sure that she didn't consider him to be at fault for sticking by his brother, but the knowledge cut at him nonetheless. He would make it up to her he promised himself, contemplating the warmth that still lingered down one side of his body. Just as she made him see his worth, he would make her see hers and then, when she was in no doubt about how he saw her, he would claim her as his own.


	14. Solace

**A.N:** _I'm off script again and adding some depth - as always I'd love to know what you think. _

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Beyond exhausted but unable to sleep, Daryl found himself pacing the yard and watching the perimeter in the small hours of the morning. Even though he knew that she was safe, that she was inside sleeping, still breathing, still alive, every time he closed his eyes he saw blood splattered across her skin. The solution to his restless mind had always been to keep moving, burning off the excess energy until he physically couldn't keep moving, and so it was that he found himself repeating a familiar pattern. Making himself a track, he moved along the fence, checking the entrances to the yard and then looping back by the cell block entrance to the spot where he had started, the spot where Axel had died.

Stopping, he looked down at the ground, examining the blood stains on the concrete in the moonlight. He chewed his thumbnail, another old habit that he found impossible to break, and exhaled a sigh. Had Axel not been standing at her side when the shooting started, Carol would have been dead when he came back. Had he not left the group with his brother, would he have stood in the convicts place? So many instances where things could have ended in a completely different way. Coincidence or fate? Who knew.

"He was telling me about his brother when the shooting started." Daryl whirled around, bow raised before his brain registered the voice that had spoken to him. Nobody could sneak up on him, his trackers instincts were too sharp for most of the group to get within fifty feet without him knowing, but Carol had learned a lot from him during the winter. She was the only one who could get close without him knowing, the only one who could breach his defences without sending him into a full on panic. She was the only one he had ever wanted to let close to him.

"Jesus Woman!" he exclaimed, wondering if his heart was actually going to burst out of his chest like a cartoon character. "Coulda shot ya!"

If his outburst surprised her, it didn't show in her face, proof positive that she was about as used to his outbursts as anyone could get. Carol wrapped her arms around herself, turning her face up toward the stars as she suppressed a shiver. The silence was comfortable for a moment before she continued. "I was hurt that you left," she didn't look at him as she spoke. He couldn't look away.

He hadn't seen her reaction when she realised that he wasn't coming home after the Woodbury raid, nor had he seen the stricken expression or heard the tone of her voice as she cried out and had to be comforted by Rick. He hadn't witnessed her emotions but he could imagine their intensity if they had been anything like his own. "At first I thought that it was selfish but then I remembered how you were back at the quarry when you thought Merle was dead and I was glad that you had a second chance. Not many of us get those."

"I shoulda bin here when the Governor attacked," he exclaimed, shifting his weight from foot to foot, feeling awkward about the admission. His own emotions were a mystery to him, uncharted territory, anger being the only one he ever gave any airtime. Daryl didn't know a damn thing about love, wasn't even sure that he believed in it, but he believed in her and in whatever it was that she made him feel. Whatever it was, he craved it, the warmth that suffused his chest when she was close, the sparks that seemed to shoot through his system when she smiled at him, the way his heart trip hammered when she spoke, like this tiny woman in front of him had the remote control to everything he saw, thought and felt, the off switch to his anger and the ability to make him see himself differently. He craved her like he craved his next breath.

"I'm glad you weren't," she told him. When she met his gaze again, he was shocked at what he saw there, such pain, such hope. "If you'd been here, you would have been standing at my side. Could have been you Daryl," she explained. "You wanna know what hurts me the most? When I was lying here, waiting for one of those rounds to go right through him and into me, I was glad it was him because you were still out there somewhere. I could use him as a shield because he wasn't you..."

A tear slid over her cheek as she raised her face to the sky again, fighting for control. Daryl waged his own battle, understanding that for a woman like Carol the thoughts she'd had in those moments were toxic and she had probably been struggling under their weight since Axel's death. This was the thread she had hung by when he saw her in the cell block after the attack, this was the reason she'd been so damn quiet. "Don't make you a bad person," he said softly. "Weren't nothin' you could do to save him."

"What kind of person thinks like that?" she asked him, tears streaking down her cheeks, leaving silver trails in their wake. "Who looks into the face of a dead friend, uses him to save herself and thanks God that it wasn't someone else standing in his place?"

Did she even know what she was saying? For a moment he watched her, resplendent in her anguish, the moonlight highlighting her delicate bone structure and the soft angles of her face. He moved toward her, slinging his bow over his shoulder, ignoring the voice inside that told him not to overstep the boundaries, and pulled her to him. "He's gonna pay for what he did here," he assured her, barely recognising the low, threatening growl as his own voice. "I swear it on my Mama." The instant he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, she turned into him, burying her face into his chest, her tears coming thick and fast.

It wasn't as bad as he'd expected. Having never been a fan of body contact he had half expected to be completely overwhelmed by her presence, even though he had instigated this moment. He was overwhelmed by her, but not in the way he had anticipated. Rather than feeling panicked by her proximity, he found himself appreciating the way her body fit against his own, her head against his shoulder, breasts against his chest, soft planes against hard edges, perfection. He held her for what seemed like hours, letting her cry herself out, rubbing the warmth back into her arms to help ward off the chill of the night air.

Sunrise found them sitting, side by side,against the wall of the cell block, Daryl's arm slung around her shoulders while one of hers wrapped around his waist. Neither of them had spoken in a while but that was okay, neither of them felt the need for words. Eventually she shifted against him, stretching slightly and turned her face toward his.

"Thank you," she said softly, "for just being here when I needed to let all that stuff about Axel out."

Daryl shrugged, exhaling a short chuckle that brought the ghost of a smile to her face. "S' alright," he told her, "you'd do the same for me right?"

Their gazes collided, world narrowing down to one single moment, like the inhale before a scream, air pulsating with an intensity that he couldn't explain, and then she answered. "Any time."

After she returned to the cell block to try to grab some sleep before breakfast, Daryl walked the perimeter, easing the ache that had formed in his muscles from sitting on concrete for hours on end. He wasn't an expert when it came to women, hell he was probably the opposite, he'd certainly never wanted to get close to one before she came along, but he figured that last night had to be a step in the right direction. No matter whether she wanted him or not, he'd always be able to hold onto those hours outside the cell block, just them and the dawn chorus, her arm around his waist and her smell burned into his brain. As far as memories went, it'd be better than most of his other ones that was for sure.


	15. Waiting

Leaning against the door of one of the cells, watching over the others as they gathered together, Daryl wondered how many of the people in front of him were nursing pains that couldn't be seen from the outside. He certainly was. As Beth's voice carried through the shadows thrown by the camp fire, her song one of survival and endurance against the odds, he took in each of the faces that made up his family and tried to memorise the slight smiles that played on their features because he didn't envision much opportunity for smiling in their futures.

Andrea's surprise visit that day had put a lot of things into perspective, it made them all look at the bigger issue and put aside their petty differences of opinion. They were going to war. Daryl had known that there was no real alternative since that first attack by the Governor days earlier but that didn't mean he hadn't hoped for one. Nobody liked to go into a conflict knowing that they were on the side that was both outnumbered and out-gunned, it didn't tend to inspire confidence.

Since their stolen hours in the yard, he had barely seen Carol for more than a minute and he hadn't managed to engineer any time alone with her. Between watch duty, hunting and keeping an eye on Merle, Daryl barely had enough time to sleep let alone socialise. Looking after his brother and keeping him out of trouble was turning out to be almost a full-time job.

Feelings had been running high, it was to be expected. It wasn't natural to expect anyone to play house with the man who had tried to kill them and Glenn certainly wasn't holding back about how he felt about the situation, leaving Daryl in a state of perpetual vigilance. He knew that his brother could handle himself just fine, but the ramifications of a clash between the Korean and Merle would not be easy to deal with, especially when Rick had made it crystal clear that anything his brother did was on Daryl's shoulders.

For the most part, his brother had been happy to have Daryl's company and had otherwise kept mostly to himself although he and Hershel had talked a little and he had tried to make amends with Michonne. It was no small relief that he had yet to start rocking the boat, too unsure of his welcome to push anyone's buttons. They gave him jobs to do and he mostly did them without comment. Daryl continued to go with him to hunt and bring in food. Merle would take watch and sometimes when things were quiet he would talk about the man that they now had to consider top of their enemy list. Nobody else in the cell block could offer insights into the mind of the Governor like Merle could, they might not like what he had to say but they had to listen to it. Complacency was a luxury they could no longer afford.

There had been much discussion as to whether they should stay or abandon the prison and take their chances on the road and as far as he could see the group seemed to be evenly split as to which course of action seemed best. Staying put was safer for the baby, more secure for the women, but they were vulnerable within the prison walls and they knew it. They had no way out if the Governor chose to return and finish what he had started. Besides, as Merle pointed out, they had lost their window of opportunity to get out clear while they argued and the Governor had clear advantages in both numbers and weapons. Those advantages were the reason that Rick was planning on heading out in search of weapons the following morning with his son and Michonne.

He would stay behind and keep things together in the Sheriffs absence, a reality that loosely translated to making sure that things didn't boil over between Glenn and Merle and making sure that the perimeter wasn't breached.

It was late when they all retired to bed, the sky already beginning to lighten beyond the cell block windows. Merle had joined them for part of the evening, the cell block door no longer locked to keep him out, and Daryl watched him as he returned to his bed wondering whether the subtle changes he had observed his brother were genuine or merely a period of adjustment to his new surroundings. He hoped that they were real, that the atmosphere and the personalities of the people around him were making him appreciate the merits of being with a larger group, but he wasn't holding his breath.

He was the last to turn in, having checked the doors and the yard for intruders and found himself lingering outside Carol's cell as he returned to his own. It wasn't a coincidence that his sleeping quarters were right next to hers, wherever he had slept he had always made sure that she was within his sight. In the muted light he saw her, curled up beneath the blanket, face toward the wall. She was a tiny thing he realised, fragile and delicate, and yet she wielded such influence over him. Her joy brought a smile to his lips, her pain made his chest ache. The woman in front of him could inspire so many emotions in him, happiness, tranquillity and even anger – nothing made him furious faster than the thought that someone or something had hurt her. She was, could be, everything to him if only he could find the nerve to tell her how he felt.

The sudden irrational urge to step over the threshold of her cell and sleep beside her, got him moving again, pace quickening as he moved from her cell to his own, pulling at his clothing so that he could fall restlessly onto the mattress and stare at the bottom of the bunk above him. He had little experience with women and even less with relationships but he knew deep in the marrow of his bones that he wanted something more from Carol than he had from the others, few as they were. As he waited for sleep to come to him he wondered what she thought about when she looked at him. She never seemed to mind him watching her, even smiled when she caught him sometimes. There was one bigger question that plagued him however, even though he had yet to find the courage to kiss her the way he wanted, would she have welcomed him if he had slid into her bed and moulded his body around her own?


	16. Grief

**A.N: **_Another gap that I had to fill so once again slightly off script. I always wondered what Daryl did with Merle's body and it didn't sit right with me that he would just leave him. I ran with that thought here..._

* * *

So much had happened in recent days, the meeting with the Governor, the arguments in the cell block, the emotional upheaval that he and Rick had waded through when they wrestled with the difficult decisions, but none of it mattered, not in comparison to the one thing that Daryl's mind just could not process. Merle. Merle was dead, real death this time, not the death that he had dragged himself through the last time his brother disappeared, but the kind that came with a tombstone and tears and the feeling that Daryl just couldn't draw a full breath into his lungs. The truth had been there, right before his eyes this time, there was no avoiding it. Merle was gone and Daryl was the sole survivor of the Dixon clan, a family who had once believed that they could survive anything and everything the world threw at them.

His return to the prison was not something he had been able to think about but his brain had made the journey without a need for conscious reasoning. He hadn't stopped to consider how the others would react when they saw an unfamiliar car approaching the fence or how the others might feel about him bringing his brother home, he'd just acted. He hadn't been able to see for the tears in his eyes but his heart had led him home. They would know when he returned without his brother in tow that his mission to track him down hadn't ended well, Michonne would have filled them in on the fact that his brother had released her and headed off to take on the Governor on his own.

They were waiting for him when he got back, anxious faces behind the wire fence that kept them safe. The tears had stopped by then but they were still there, ready to fall at a moments notice, balanced on the razor-thin edge of his control. He could see the shapes but not the individual features as he approached. He saw the moment that they recognised him behind the wheel and the moment when they realised who wasn't sitting beside him in the passenger seat. Paying no attention to the flurry of movement as the gates opened and he passed through them, he drove to the furthest edge of the yard and stopped the car. Unable to face them all, he threw back his head against the head rest and tried to try to rein in the emotions.

When he finally climbed out of the vehicle, legs shaking beneath him, the air was silent. Turning his head, he found the yard empty apart from one solitary figure who stood near to the cell block entrance unwilling to intrude on his precarious self-control. She was unsure of her welcome, arms wrapped around her middle as she waited for a sign for him. She was the only person he wanted to see, the only person that could possibly understand the depth of his feelings.

As he slumped against the side of the car, legs just refusing to hold him upright any longer, she ran to him, closing the distance faster than he would have thought possible. Expression changing as she got close enough to read his own, Carol skidded to a stop, hand raised to her mouth. She knew just by looking at him why he had returned alone and in that moment his pain became hers. Her empathy was his undoing, the tidal wave of emotion crashing through all of his defences and sweeping him away. He pushed himself up from the side of the car and she caught him as his legs gave way under him, arms wrapping around his waist to stop him from hitting the concrete, gently lowering him to the ground. Unable to hold back the tide, Daryl collapsed emotionally and physically in her embrace, face buried in her shoulder, tears soaking into the fabric of her shirt.

She stayed with him, letting him cry himself out without comment. No words were needed, she understood what the emotion represented, facts were irrelevant. Like an animal caught in a trap, he waited for the next wave of pain to finish him off, eased only by her presence and the tears that she shed for Merle and for him. Her voice was soft, murmured words of sorrow and condolence that didn't do nearly as much to ease the pain in his chest as the touch of her skin on his. With Carol as his only audience, Daryl let it all go, allowing himself to grieve openly and honestly for what he had lost.

"Never thought I'd have to ..." he managed to say when the tears had finally stopped and he could draw a shallow breath.

Carol's hand stilled on his shoulder as she absorbed his meaning. A heartbeat later her hand found his, fingers curling around his own and providing him a lifeline in the storm. Daryl hung onto her, knowing that his grip was too tight. She didn't complain. "I'm sorry Daryl," she told him softly. "What can I do?"

So simple. Four words that made him love her even more than he did already. Love, that was what it was, the feeling that he felt whenever she was around, whenever she looked at him in that way that made his heart speed up and slow down all at once. She didn't try to take the pain away by offering words that would mean nothing, she just sat with him, cried with him and asked him what she could do to help him bear the burden.

"I don't want the others to see him the way he is now ..." he admitted. It was the first acknowledgement that he had brought Merle home with him and she was the only person he would share it with. Turning his face up to look at her, he found her looking out across the field to their little graveyard and the empty grave that had been dug for her when they thought she was lost. There was no way that they could get out there to bury Merle with the others, too many walkers to run the risk.

"We could bury him in the woods," she said finally, "nothing fancy, just you and me, that way nobody else would see him."

She returned to the cell block briefly but only to confirm Merle's passing to the others and ask that they respect Daryl's need to be alone, then they headed to the edge of the woods, shovels in hand. Daryl threw himself into the task of digging the grave, channelling the anger into something physical, every bruise and splinter becoming a tribute to the brother he had always idolised. Merle had given his life for the group and Daryl would bleed for his brother while he buried him. The small sacrifices were all he could offer him now. Carol helped with the digging but he wouldn't let her help with the body. Alone, he carried his brother from the trunk of the car to the grave site, glad of the blanket that he had found in the car and wrapped the body in.

Side by side they stood by the freshly turned earth, heads bowed. It felt as natural as breathing to reach for her and she placed her hand in his without hesitation. Daryl didn't believe in God, he never had really, but he was thankful for whatever prayers Carol might be throwing out there for Merle, more thankful than she would ever know. They marked his brothers resting place with a simple cross made from sticks, his grief spilling over like a wash of fresh blood when she produced a Cherokee rose that she had found while he had gone back to collect the body and placed it beneath the wooden memorial.

If she was impatient to move on she didn't show it, standing vigil with him until he was ready to leave. As they fell into step beside one another, she slipped an arm around his waist. He accepted all that she offered and drank it in, needing the touch to anchor him, needing her proximity to remind him that there was something to live for. His arm wrapped around her shoulder, holding her even closer. They stayed out in the yard, sitting on one of the tables and looking out at the amber hues of the failing sunset and eventually up at the stars that became visible in the sky. The quiet soothed him; the warmth of her at his side soothed him more.

"We'll go back in when you're ready," she told him, staring in wonder at the expanse above her, "stay out here all night if that's what you want but I'm staying until you tell me to go."

When they did eventually go back inside he was relieved to find the others had retreated to their cells for the night. He didn't want questions, could barely cope with the nod of acknowledgement that Rick gave him as they passed by. Alone he would crumble, he knew it as sure as he knew that he would take his breath. Alone he would revisit every memory of his brother, good and bad, from the earliest when he was a kid and Merle was already leaving, to the last in which his brother's lifeless eyes had stared up at him, he would see them all.

To his surprise she didn't turn into her own cell, so close to his and yet so far away, but guided him into his. He didn't fight her when she helped him out of his jacket and boots, too numb to protest that he could do it himself. Her hands were gentle but firm as she pushed him back to the mattress and covered him with the blanket, watching him with steady eyes as he curled up small and alone.

After a moment of indecision she surprised the hell out of him, kicking off her boots and slipping off her shirt and the belt from her jeans before lying down beside him. Automatically he lifted the blanket to cover her, noticing for the first time how cool her skin was after their time out in the yard. Though she didn't do anything but lie at his side, he felt the comfort of having her close. "This okay?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper in the still air.

Wordlessly he nodded, dangerously close to crying again in the face of her selfless kindness. Carol exhaled a sigh, placing a hand against his cheek and wiping away the evidence of his tears. Her touch was gentle, familiar and oh so welcome. He hadn't wanted to be alone, now he wouldn't be. Tonight he needed her and she was there, her arms around him in the dark; he wouldn't look further than that, a simple kindness that spoke directly to his soul and spoke volumes about hers. Though sleep took a long time in coming to him that night, it found him in Carol's arms.


	17. Beginnings

As he, Rick, Michonne and Glenn escorted the remaining Woodbury residents through the prison gates and into their home, Daryl's eyes searched the group for the one person he needed more than anyone else. Carol was in the yard, her eyes tracking the return of those she considered family and others who she would welcome with open arms. He saw again the flash of pain that crossed her eyes as she realised that Andrea wasn't with them, her eyes flickering to his own as she registered what the blonde woman's absence represented. He couldn't offer her what she needed, couldn't look at her when he was so close to the edge. So much death. So much loss.

She found him in their cell, yes their cell, stepping inside with none of the awkward shyness that had defined her for so long. Since the night that they had buried Merle, something had changed between them, something that he was glad of even if he couldn't explain it. Without conversation or conscious thought they had just found themselves sharing a cell, both of them finding a much needed comfort in the proximity of having each other near. When his feelings were more tangled and distant than ever, Carol remained his only anchor to the real world. The sight of her mourning yet another friend made him crazy. "You okay?" he asked, turning away from their bunk to face her.

"Do you ever wonder what we did to deserve all of this?" she asked hollowly. "I've lost more people in the last year than I had in my entire life."

"Ain't nobody done anything bad enough to warrant what's happening out there," he replied softly. "World's gone to shit and best we can do is try to survive."

The words came out harder than he had intended, what little tact he posessed blunted by the events of recent days. It was a constant surprise to him that he had room left to feel anything, that the loss of his brother had left him with room to grieve for others. He had wanted on some level to believe that the loss of Merle would kill him but it hadn't, did he hurt? Yes, but life went on. His heart did not stop. The world didn't end.

"I don't want to survive Daryl," she told him. The words caused a spark of panic to flare in his chest and the emptiness in her eyes was the most terrifying thing he had ever seen. Even though he knew that she didn't mean the remark the way it sounded, it bothered him to hear her brought so low, as if Andrea's death is one more blow, one more light extinguished for her in a world where the darkness is already dominant. "I don't want to spend the rest of my days lurching from one crisis to the next, waiting to see who's going to die next. I want to live."

The moment the words were out of her mouth, he knew that he wanted the exact same thing. Fuck heartache and despair and the end of the world, he wanted to feel alive again. He wanted something positive, something to wake up and fight for. With three steps across their cell he had her in his arms, pulling her body close to his chest and holding her there. He heard her shocked inhalation and wondered how she would react. She was used to him getting close, they shared a bunk after all, but they both knew that he had never been this close before, not when they were both so emotionally raw. Just as he was beginning to think that he should let her go, step away and face up to the fact that whatever she wanted from him it was not the same as what he wanted from her, she relaxed, leaning into him and wrapping her arms around his waist. Forehead to forehead they stood together, breathing one another in.

"I can't lose you too Daryl," she told him, voice filled with emotion. When she pulled back far enough to look up into his face, he saw a constellation of tears on her lashes, proof positive that she was telling him the truth. She'd said something similar to him once before and he had thrown the sentiment at her, all temper and bad mood; this time he would handle it differently. "The thought of it just …" Words failing, she fell silent.

As she shuddered in his arms, he lifted a hand to wipe away her tears. "Ain't gonna lose me," he reassured her, tilting her chin up so that he could look her in the eye. Time to be brave. He had never been a talker but he had held onto his silence until it sliced him apart from the inside out. Thinking back to those days that he had spent without her and how it had felt to know that she was out there but that he wasn't with her, he tried to find words that could accurately sum up how he felt. It had taken him a long time to realise what she was and what she meant to him, the perfect woman that he had realised was perfect far too late. She was more than just someone he liked, his need for her way more than a biological function that he had denied himself for too long. She was everything. "Left you behind once and it nearly killed me," he murmured, "don't ever plan on leaving you again, unless you tell me to that is."

For a second, she said nothing, just stared at him in disbelief. Then her face lit up, surprise and joy suffusing her features like Christmas lights in the dark, and he couldn't help but smile back at her. Just as quickly the expression faltered and she shut away some of the elation that had chased away her tears."You really mean that?" she asked, quiet, unsure. He hated the note of insecurity that he heard in her voice, would rather have been beaten with a hammer than ever give the woman in front of him one moment of doubt or pain.

Taking the plunge and acting before he had a chance to change his mind, he leaned in and pressed his lips against her own. It wasn't a skilful manoeuvre, lacking the finesse that he would have liked to have brought to their first kiss, but it was heartfelt and he had to hope that would be enough. He felt rather than saw her surprise as he brushed his lips gently against her own, once, twice, coaxing her into opening for him. He forced himself to stay calm, determined that he wouldn't over think what he was doing. Without the involvement of his brain it was surprisingly easy, his body knew what it wanted and acted accordingly. He was rewarded when he felt her melt into him, her tongue brushing against his own as she gave him access to her mouth. In her kiss he found warmth, sweetness and velvet softness and he revelled in the closeness, his hands moving so that he pulled her close at the small of her back and caressed the nape of her neck with his free hand.

He wanted her, plain and simple, no other way to explain it. He wanted to fill her mouth with his breath, run his hands up and down the soft skin of her back, to learn her every dip and curve, to know her story and her scars like they were his own. In that moment, arms around her and lips against her own, he was hers and she was his, she was his future and he would follow her anywhere.

Pulling back a fraction he looked down into her face, taking in the slightly glazed look in her eyes. He had put that look on her face. His actions had taken her breath from her and stopped the spiralling panic that had been taking hold in both of them. Carol was small and vulnerable in his arms, and for reasons that didn't understand she seemed to need him as much as he needed her. The knowledge emboldened him, gave him the push he needed to say what was on his mind. "Don't you ever leave me woman," he told her, leaning his forehead against hers so that they stood nose to nose, lips a breath away from touching. "You want somethin' to live for, then give whatever this is between us a chance and I promise you won't ever regret it. What do you say?"

Somewhere out in the cell block he heard Beth call her name, the echoes telling them both that the girl was heading their way. He could feel her shuddering in his arms, tremors racing through her muscles like tiny earthquakes. She made no move to respond to the call, no indication that she was about to pull away. Looking him in the eye, weighing the weight of his words, she exhaled, breath skating across his lips like a sweet caress. "Yes," she replied, pressing her mouth to his, a soft touch of lips against his own, a promise exchanged without the need for elaboration.

After she had left, he found himself alone, a smile on his face. He had taken the first step, told her in a way how he felt and made her a promise that she would never regret giving him the chance to be a part of her life, now all he had to do was figure out where they went from there.

.


End file.
